


Dorsia

by LelithSugar



Category: Kingsman (Movies)
Genre: Anal Fingering, Established Hartwin, Established Relationship, Explicit Consent, Explicit Sexual Content, Fluff and Smut, Intimacy, Kink Negotiation, M/M, New Relationship, Oral Sex, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Rimming, Smut, absolute filth, bathtime shenanigans, sexual negotiation, trying new things
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-06
Updated: 2018-03-06
Packaged: 2019-03-28 00:49:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,225
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13892733
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LelithSugar/pseuds/LelithSugar
Summary: Harry enjoys eating out, and Eggsy has some reservations.… that was a bloody clever bit of wordplay for six thousand words about rimming, eh?





	Dorsia

**Author's Note:**

> Have some casual weekday evening filth.
> 
> ...if anyone can follow the stream of consciousness around the summary to the title, I’ll be really impressed. First correct guess in the comments gets… I dunno, I'll decide when it happens. 
> 
> Many thanks to the usual suspects <3

Dorsia

 

Harry’s plan is, first and foremost, to dress casually for the day at home. But to do so he must walk past the bed where Eggsy is sprawled on his front, nude, scrolling through something on his phone which is still plugged in behind the side table. He gives in to the urge to sink to his knees on the mattress between Eggsy’s feet - damp towel forgotten, pooling on the floor - and drop to kiss at the parallel dimples at the small of his back. Lower. He loses himself in worshipping the smoothness of his skin, the tight full curves of the muscles, springy and thick in his hands as he squeezes and pulls at him.

“By Christ, you've got a lovely arse,” Harry mumbles appreciatively against the flesh, scraping his teeth over the curve of a cheek before sinking in for a bite. Eggsy chuckles a little ‘ _ ow’ _ but doesn’t make even the most cursory effort to stop him when Harry  goes in again, digging his teeth around a bigger mouthful of flesh whilst he runs his hands up the outsides of Eggsy's thighs.  ‘Mmm.’ 

Harry keeps moving so that he'll be leaving a trail of marks without any real pain: wet red splotches and little sky blue indents of his teeth, making his way across Eggsy's backside until his nose is settled in his crack, breath tickling at his hole, suddenly close enough to lick. 

“May I?” Harry chances a kiss to the inside of Eggsy's cheek, further into the crease. By god, he wants to taste him, and it may just be that Eggsy’s relaxed enough to let him... 

“Er, nah mate. You're alright.” 

“No?”  Harry settles back a little, but not fully. Never having found themselves in exactly this position before he isn't sure whether it’s that this is not something Eggsy likes, if he's not in the mood, or if he's just being needlessly polite.

“S’just wrong, innit,” Eggsy says, by way of explaining his objection. He squirms to get his legs together, to close his body off from Harry's mouth, from the hunger of his gaze, and Harry doesn’t stop him.

He's uncomfortable. That’s unfortunate, but his answer sends a flare of something hopeful and possessive up in the back of Harry's mind. If he hadn't half expected some sort of objection: if he'd thought this would be something Eggsy would lay back and take without question, he'd have suggested it much sooner or just dived in, but it hadn't really crossed his mind that he might never have done it  _ at all. _

That neat, tight little hole of Eggsy’s has never been kissed. Harry's already stiff cock throbs against the bedding beneath him in interest, further piqued by challenge and novelty. How is it that he has allowed this to happen? How many nights, how many mornings has he spent in bed with this astonishingly beautiful boy, how many trysts in offices and lofts and one dusty air duct -alright, that wouldnt have been the place for it - and he's discovering this _now_?  


Harry withdraws properly to allow Eggsy to shift onto his side, and then rolls him onto his back so that Harry's continued kisses naturally fall to the tops of his thighs, the trench of his hipbones. His cock is middling-to-hard, and Harry’s not sure if he’s perking up along with the flush creeping across his face or if he was hard to start with and the topic’s putting him off. Still, he’s in the best position to ensure the seeds of promise are sewn in hospitable ground: Harry licks a warming stripe up Eggsy’s cock, glancing the head, settling his weight on his front and his elbows so it’s obvious he’s not going anywhere whatever turn the conversation takes.

“Personally, I happen to think it’s rather lovely. But I shan’t ever pressure you, you know that.” He pauses to lavish wet attention on Eggsy’s cock; a quick suck to keep his interest whilst they explore. They’re on unbroken ground, it would seem, so he treads carefully: he makes sure Eggsy’s fully absorbed in his own pleasure, in the stroke of lips and tongue up his cock, before he pulls back to stroke and continue. “Just know that it's an option, and should you ever feel inclined to experiment, I would have a…   _ vested interest _ in making the experience as enjoyable as possible for you.”

“You…”  Eggsy gasps softly and drops back into the pillows, his hips lifting but his body otherwise pliable in Harry’s hands.  “... You don't…   _ mind _ doing that?”

Oh, bless the boy, and his tone of surprise that hasn't decided whether it's appalled or wonderous. He's still so self conscious, so reticent about his arse in particular, and Harry isn't sure if it's out of  true preference that Eggsy seems to see the receiving end of matters as being exclusively Harry’s domain, or just because he hasn't sampled the rest of what's on the table. Regardless, Harry has no real objection to it remaining that way: he’s aware he’d have been punching above his weight with a boy like Eggsy when he was thirty, let alone now - but if Eggsy might yet enjoy all those things he hasn’t experienced, then Harry’s honour bound to ensure they have a fair trial. What sort of gentleman would he be if he allowed Eggsy to go on thinking he was something to be serviced out of duty, or that his gorgeous backside in particular is something to be embarassed about, rather than the star attraction?  


“Not at all.” Harry ducks to nuzzle under Eggsy's balls, part to make the point about how close he already is. He _waxes_ , which Harry finds just the most awful tease. Who on earth maintains such a meticulous back sack and crack job and then doesn't invite their partner to smother themselves in the latter? Positively criminal. "I suspect I might quite enjoy myself."

He _tsks_ it, heavy on the sarcasm. “Course you would.” _Dirty old man_ remains unsaid but at least he's starting to believe him.

Kissing at his balls makes Eggsy whine and shift his legs apart so that Harry can close his lips against the skin there, velvety and musky and perfect as it is, and tease up the seam with the tip of his tongue. 

“You… “ Eggsys swallow is audible even from there and Harry sucks him gently whilst Eggsy fumbles for whatever it is he wants to say. Yyou done it before?”

Harry doesn’t laugh at him. Not really.  _ Sweetheart, my sweet darling.  _ In a way it's a blessing, his patchy inexperience **,** that he comes to Harry with so much untried that he doesn't even realise what there is to be missing, a lot of the time. 

“Once or twice,” mutters Harry before ducking to take Eggsy fully in his mouth and letting the sarcastic little chuckle he can't really help reverberate along his cock. That should be enough to assuage any real jealousy, leaving only the other flood of heat that always comes when Eggsy has these little epiphanies about all the things Harry has done with men that aren't him. “But it's quite alright, if it's not something you fancy. It's not for everyone.”

It may be that he truly doesn't know enough to want it, with no frame of reference, and Harry is more than prepared to make an impassioned sales pitch for the act on the whole if he deigns to give it a try. Theres that, and the fact that Eggsy is just utterly incapable of letting a challenge lie: Harry is well aware that all he'd need to do would be to dare Eggsy, or tell him he thought he wouldn't do it, and Eggsy would be sitting on his face before the hour was out just to prove a point.

But that's not the way Harry wants it, so he focuses on the task at hand - on Eggsy's prick hitching in his mouth, throbbing hard and starting to leak - and lets the subject be, for the time being, 

 

***

Eggsy's so quiet for the rest of the morning that Harry starts to worry he's upset him. They’re clearly both still thinking about it, having had no conversation of any particular substance since Eggsy came in his mouth, clutching at his hair and whimpering prayers with Harry’s wet finger just stroking over his hole, teasing.

 

“Harry.” Eggsy puts down the stack of undershirts he’s folding and picks them up again.  “‘Bout that thing you was gonna do earlier…” 

It almost couldn’t have been about anything else, really. Harry could of course pretend he has no idea what Eggsy's referring to just to watch him squirm a bit, to see what the kids are calling it these days, but he really does try to remember that Eggsy is new to a great deal of this and easily spooked, so teasing him is not in Harry's best interests right now, however tempting.

“Yes, my darling?”

“Why?” 

Harry fights the urge to wind him up with every ounce of his composure, and gives him the truth, as well as the two plastic baskets of sorted underwear to decant into the drawers. He brushes his hand against the small of Eggsy’s back as he steps closer. “Because your body is gorgeous, and I thought you might like it. People do tend to.” He's not exactly one to brag but he's certainly never left a lover disappointed by the experience, other than perhaps by wanting more, and the hunger in Harry’s fingertips grows from the suddenly vivid image of Eggsy with his legs spread and slung over Harry’s shoulders, bottom lip pinched between his teeth, face flushed pink and screwed up in that wince that looks as though it’s more pain than pleasure as he fucks frantically up into his own fist. Not that Harry would be able to see from his particular vantage point but oh, to be a fly on the wall that first time the boy finds out what else Harry’s tongue can do for him.Not that he'sgiven it much thought, obviously.

...Alright, so perhaps Harry might be inclined to brag, were the topic not so thoroughly inappropriate for the vast majority of company, but just so happens that Harry takes pride in a job well done. Is there anything wrong with that? “And I would very much enjoy the opportunity to see whether you do. Perhaps I might show you what you’ve been missing. ”

Eggsy looks stoically unconvinced, that strange sneer of affronted discomfort sitting so naturally on his face.

“You want to  _ lick  _ my  _ arsehole _ . My actual arsehole.” 

Harry chuckles.  “That's the gist of it, yes.” He knows that he doesn't truly need to elaborate. The fact the topic is still in play at all means Eggsy is at least considering it, so he lets his own earnest hope show through, and puts the remaining laundry down in favour of a soothing grip on Eggsy’s hipbone where it’s exposed by the low rise of his joggers.  “Am I to take this to mean you're curious? What would help to make you more comfortable?” 

Eggsy tips his weight into the touch, lets Harry kiss at his neck. It’s too soon for another round, surely, but having the chat like this is promising indeed. He’d hate to cooerce, but it would be equally ungentlemanly to allow Eggsy to miss out on something for want of a strong enough recommendation from the more experienced: he would never have tried caviar, for example, if Harry hadn’t deduced enough aout his tastes to push him and now it's the devil’s own job to get him to order anything else.

He’s having a similar sort of visual wavering process about the next taste Harry’s hoping he’ll acquire just as quickly.  


“I dunno. It ain't like I've really thought about it before.” 

Harry resolves, at that moment, that Eggsy will; that if it is within Harry’s power, that simple act will graduate from horrifying foreign concept to guilty favourite fantasy and, if at all possible, from there to something Eggsy will be shameless in his enjoyment of; threading his fingers into Harry's hair and guiding him from his balls to push Harry's face up between his legs whenever he wants to ride his mouth.

The noise Harry doesn't mean to make betrays the fact that his interest is perhaps not as casual as he implied, but if anything that seems to help. 

“You  _ want _ to do it?”

“My dear, I want to do everything and anything that stands a chance of being pleasurable for you.” That won't work, not on its own. In the few months they've been intimate Eggsy has been considerate to a fault despite his inexperience: endearingly shy, loathe to let himself enjoy any affection he doesn't feel is benefitting Harry directly at the time, though he'd be very much mistaken on that score. “But yes, I like it, if that’s what you’re asking. I want to kiss every part of you, to claim each and every inch. ” He lays his lips against the shell of Eggsy's ear, slipping his hands fully around his waist. “Quite specifically, I’d like to lap at you until you’re slick and loose, and then fuck you on my tongue until you're begging. How does that sound?”

Eggsy lets out a sweet little gasp. “That’s  _ dirty.”  _

_ “ _ Mm. It is rather.” They share a grin, and Harry can't not capitalise on it. Eggsy has given him the opening to work with, so to speak: it may well be time to move for action, ever so gently. “But if you're meaning that literally, perhaps you'd be at your most confident right after a bath?” 

“S’pose so.” Eggsy’s brow is still twisted up in scepticism, working through what on earth it is that Harry knows that he doesn't, for it to be something he wants to do when the idea is obviously still completely absurd to Eggsy. He’ll find out, in time, because Harry Hart is not above pulling out every trick in the very well read and heavily annotated book to ensure Eggsy’s first experience is one he’s keen on repeating, on bettering, in every position Herry can conceive of in the time it takes him to come to something of a resolution.   


“Just so you know, if I fart or something I'm amnesia darting you.” 

Harry looks at him very seriously, “I’d consider that a fair and acceptable risk on both counts.” 

Eggsy looks completely, mortally appalled for a split second before something he catches in Harry’s eyes makes him laugh - perhaps the warmth of casual honesty - and he sniffs and tips his jaw up, squaring his shoulders. 

“Yeah. Alright.”

***

If Eggsy had been into the master bathroom in that first night at Harry's house it would have answered a lot of questions. 

The en suite to the guest bedroom is sleek and spotless, with a powerful waterfall shower that Eggsy favours most of the time still, even though he slept in the room a grand total of twice. It’s indulgent but functional. The master bathroom, by contrast, is pure leisure space, all gilt and teal, dominated by a huge sunken bathtub transparently made for exactly this: candle lit baths for two - no mean feat in itself when one of you is over six foot - with enough bubbles that they could be in a nineteen forties film and get past the censors… if they weren't also two men sharing a romantic bath, but that's the golden age of Hollywood’s loss, not theirs. 

Harry stands accused of being a little cavalier with the Molton Brown, admittedly. It’s not the most expensive on the market - or wouldn't be, if you didn't insist on using half a bottle every time, but it's a big tub. Besides, Eggsy has limited experience with anything that doesn't come from Superdrug and the vetiver and black pepper bath foam is “the absolute tits” which Harry gathers is a compliment, so he tends to appreciate the luxury, albeit with the occasional scoff. Fortunately it has not yet occurred to him to Google the particular brand of candles that line the ledge at the back of the bath. The point remains: it's worth it, as far as Harry's concerned. People would and do pay much more for the slice of paradise that is a hot bath, soft lighting, a decent drink and the glistening, soaped up nudity of an inhumanly beautiful twenty-something between your legs. 

It's not a bad life, all told. For all that being a spy is eighty percent paperwork and twenty percent getting yourself nearly killed in increasingly lavish and improbable manners, he wouldn't be sitting here if he'd become an accountant, or in fact a tailor. 

It starts with snogging. Good slow, deep kisses full of heat but no hurry, building on the soft, excited warmth of starting the evening with a generous glass of wine and poorly veiled intentions. Once or twice eggsy's hands start to wander - he's an impatient thing, no sense of delayed gratification - and Harry revels in his hunger for a moment at a time before guiding him to relax. 

Harry washes Eggsy's hair and massages his shoulders; buffs his arms, chest and back with the scrubby side of a shamelessly pink sponge, and sluices him down with handfuls of hot water, the functional ‘cleaning’ purposeful: this is not just  _ a  _ bath but  _ the  _ bath they have discussed, and Eggsy has plenty of opportunity to shy away if he suddenly changes his mind. He does not: he keeps a determined set to his jaw,  wet hair and pink cheeks making him look like a young Disney prince in a way that makes Harry's heart squeeze quite alarmingly, but also makes him want to ruin him in the best ways. Time to get to work on that.

Harry lathers up a squeeze of bodywash until it’s smooth foam between his hands, something milky  and moisturising: gentle and unobtrusive. He holds his arms open, touching Eggsy mostly with the insides of  his elbows to keep the soap on his hands.

“Come and sit in my lap.”

Eggsy complies, the heavy slide of their legs only awkward for a moment before he's comfortably straddling Harry, weight easy on his thighs. It's a tempting position at the best of times: they're all wet and slippery and Harry's erection refuses to acknowledge that water is not as good a friend as it feels like it might be, but he ignores it. Most of the time Harry prides himself on better judgement although he will acquiesce - particularly now, with Eggsy molten, soapy and pawing at him - that his libido does have some pretty spectacular ideas. 

Harry lets Eggsy take the lead for a while, kissing him hot and open and enjoying the feel of Eggsy’s hands slipping over him, finding his favourite places, trying to turn him on. It’s a matter of pride or challenge rather than necessity: Eggsy’s well aware Harry’s cock is stiff already, sitting happily up the bracket of Eggsy’s hipbone next to his own. Perhaps he is nervous and partly hoping that they’ll get too distracted for this to go the way he knows it’s supposed to, or perhaps he wants that reassurance that Harry is as into this as he’s lead Eggsy to believe.

If only he knew. 

Doing his best to push his own enjoyment to the side without ignoring it entirely, Harry lets Eggsy touch his fill and gropes right back, one hand grasping the sculpted warmth of Eggsy’s back, the other just working one soapy finger between his cheeks and over his hole, feeling the twitch of the ring of muscle. Harry can feel the nerves in him, in the forced slow steadiness of his breathing, but there's no wince and Eggsy settles into it, open if still a little guarded.  Harry feels, more than hears, the little moans into his mouth that reassure him it isn't that Eggsy doesn't physically enjoy the sensation of being touched there. A little apprehension he can handle. 

When Eggsy seems to be actively seeking more, Harry lets his finger push into him, just up to the second knuckle, not trying to stretch but stroking.  Eggsy almost bucks back against it, but the soap isn't enough lubrication for more, and would probably play havoc with his insides at that. Harry withdraws to go back to teasing at him, feeling the creases and ridges of the skin where the muscle flutters and tenses again, strumming over his hole so softly. 

“There, how's that? Not so bad?”

In lieu of a verbal answer, Eggsy just surges up to kiss him again, hauling half out of the water in a loud rush to press himself hard into Harry's front, which is encouraging. Very encouraging. Willing tolerance is the minimum Harry would settle for, because he's quietly confident that in retrospect Eggsy's enjoyment will outweigh any apprehension he felt first, but if Eggsy is freely enjoying these touches like it feels as though he is - seeking them out and grinding into them, eyes narrowed and hot, panting hungry little groans into Harry's mouth - then the battle is half won.

Still, he doesn't rush. Far be it from him to squander a single moment of Eggsy enjoying having his arse played with to further his own ends, not that they're at all hindered by the hard cock grinding into the flesh of his stomach. Eggsy drops his head down to Harry's shoulder, his breath hot and heavy on the wet skin of Harry's neck. Harry's content to hold him like that and keep teasing at him but eggsy gives a couple of pointedly dramatic moans and then, eventually, bites him. 

“Alright, alright. Kneel up for me, and bend forward.”

Eggsy's at least three quarters of the way through repositioning himself before the self consciousness kicks back in, but Harry soothes him by moving up against the back of him, his own erection nudging into the meat of the boy’s thigh, and Eggsy bends his back readily.    


“How do you feel, squeaky clean?”

Eggsy laughs in agreement.  “Like a Cillit Bang advert, fam. Gleaming.” There's a notable silence. If Eggsy's colloquialisms are to be relied upon, he's likely to be fighting to keep down the “ _ like you could eat your dinner off it _ ” that should come next, probably because he knows better than to put it past him. 

“Well then.”

Harry guides Eggsy to kneel up and lean over the side of the bath, so that his forearms are braced on the ledge surrounding the tub, the water once they're both mostly hauled out of it settling around the middle of his thighs and Harry sitting in the bath between his feet. It's comfortable enough, which is good as Harry has every intention of being in for the long haul.

Grasping the firm, plush muscle of Eggsy’s arse in his hands is a joy to be savoured in itself. Spreading it apart to properly look - for the first time, this singularly - at what Harry will be the first to taste, the first to give this pleasure to, is one he could bask in for hours if he had the time, but he doesn’t. He presses one kiss to the very inside of his arse crack in warning, letting his breath tickle closer still, and Eggsy only wriggles slightly: an invitation. The thought of him asking verbally  - even for Harry to get on with it, let alone any more graphic instruction of where exactly he wants Harry to put his tongue - is almost too much. 

The first lick makes Eggsy’s back arch and has him hissing out a surprised “ _ fuck”  _ which rings nicely off the tiles, but other than the instinctive twitch he doesn't try to pull away.  His responsiveness makes a luxurious rush of answering excitement fly down Harry’s spine. Oh, he’s going to enjoy this.

“I can't see you, so you're going to have to tell me how it feels. If you want me to stop, you just say so.”  Harry has to make it abundantly clear that the choice is all Eggsy's, but that doesn't mean he wouldn’t be disappointed. He's barely started, after all. Luckily for him, Eggsy stays quiet and settles back into his braced position, fighting to keep the set of his body loose whilst Harry gets back to task, exploring gently with his tongue. It's every bit as beautiful as he's going to tell Eggsy it is: there's the searing heat and the sweet of clean, wet skin, the chemical bitterness of the soap, prickling on Harry's tongue as he presses so gently and flicks, just teasing before going in for another broad, firm lick.

“Ohhh... fuck, yeah.” 

Harry murmurs an approving, possibly slightly smug, hum into Eggsy's arse crack, which feels just rude in the loveliest way. He can feel the heat of his own breath on Eggsy’s skin, slick with oily bathwater, reflected back against his face, and the quiver in the lush muscle of Eggsy's buttocks when he laughs so breathily. 

“Yeah alright, that's pretty good.” 

_ Pretty good, indeed.  _ Harry would be offended if it weren't for the shudder in Eggsy’s voice that belies his understatement. Even that would be enough: there was always a chance he'd really not be able to overcome his misgivings or he'd hate the sensation; Harry doesn't understand it, but he knows there are people who do. 

Not his boy though, by the feel of it - thank fuck. Harry fully puts his mind to Eggsy's surprised pleasure, licking patterns over the wrinkles of the softly closed hole and listening to him burble sighs and swearwords in response. Swirls; compass points; letters which turn into words that might be the beginning of a poem, if he could focus, because if he’d ever had the pleasure of an arse it was worth writing a sonnet about, it was definitely Eggsy’s. It’s as firm and smooth and gorgeous as ever in Harry’s hands, as he’d imagined it being around his face, and Harry’s pulse pounds in his cock for all he’s doing his best to focus. He can’t help a little groan of appreciation and Eggsy huffs a shocked little laugh in response, perhaps an insult Harry can’t hear and doesn’t need to. He’ll earn that dirty old man epithet over and over introducing Eggsy to every indulgence he can think of and only be too grateful if he proves himself worthy of it.

So far, so good: slung over the side of the bath, Eggsy's weight is drooping as he relaxes, the bow of his back more pronounced to present himself for what Harry’s doing to him.  Below, his balls are taut and flushed so his cock can only be rigid, out of sight: the most unbiased indicator of his feelings on the matter, and all is well, so Harry proceeds on instinct, pressing two fingers against Eggsy’s rim and pushing them apart to spread him out so that he can get the tip of his tongue inside.

Eggsy tenses. 

“Don't… don’t - oh _ fuck _ .”

Harry withdraws quickly despite the uptick in tone.

“No? You don't like that?”

“It feels nice, it just… don't it taste rank?”

“Not at all.” Now is not the time for the sentimental intimacy: Eggsy needs factual reassurance, and Harry can give it in good conscience. “You're all soapy clean, I promise.”

Mollified, or else - Harry hopes - slightly past the point of caring, Eggsy relaxes again, his body spreading under Harry’s hands, opening back up for his kisses, letting him push inside again to the extent that the searing hot tightness of his body will allow.

Harry swirls his tongue in a circle. It doesn't translate to any actual movement, the strength of his tongue no match for the nervous clenching of Eggsy's hole: just a shifting of the pressure in a continuous swirl around the rim of Eggsy's arse which shivers in response, twitches and loosens so that the next lap of his tongue is more pronounced, and Eggsy moans. 

Harry does it again, and Eggsy’s right knee kicks slightly when the muscle in his thigh jumps, sloshing the cooling bathwater.

“Fuck  _ me _ .”

That’s clearly not an actual invitation, and Harry wouldn’t give this up right now even if it was, but he reaches under between Eggsy’s legs to find his cock impatiently, gratifyingly thick and grasp it in a soap-foamed hand. It has the added benefit of keeping Eggsy's legs spread wide around of Harry's forearm whilst he tongues at him; Eggsy is loose now, easy to move, weight trembling on his arms on the side of the bath as Harry licks and strokes him at the same time. 

Eggsy groans.

“Swear I’ve - ” he squeaks it and then coughs to recover himself, and Harry would laugh if he weren't wary of embarrassing him and if the sudden tension around his tongue didn't make his cock throb quite so badly. He doesn't stop.  “ - Swear I've seen a word for this on Urban Dictionary. Trust...  _ nggh, shit.  _ Trust you to be the sort of freak who does this sort of shit like it’s normal.” 

Harry says nothing. The strain in Eggsy’s voice is satisfying but the fact he can still string a sentence together is less so: Harry wants Eggsy mindless with bliss, wants him to come quick and hard with Harry's tongue in his arse so that he’ll be able to do this again, soon and often. Pure ust shimmers through Harry, hot and demanding, but he puts it aside.

It's good practice for the coordination, keeping Eggsy open enough with his left hand between his cheeks that Harry can delve his tongue in and keep lapping at him, jerking Eggsy's cock slow and steady with his right. Harry can't touch himself without abandoning the spreading of Eggsy's hole ,much as his body begs him to. Another time, he'll be able to make the most of what this does for him, either in the remembering, or … Is it possible Eggsy is bendy enough to sit on Harry's face and suck him at the same time? If anyone can do it… 

Harry's jaw aches, the underneath of his tongue starting to feel strained, but he will make the most of every second Eggsy’s enjoying this and be grateful for the twinges in the morning, the hard won aftereffects of his labour of love. He thinks about thinking about it, about suddenly remembering why his mouth hurts when he's sipping his coffee tomorrow and that just makes him harder. Every little whimper Eggsy makes has him twitching, insistent arousal spreading up his back and making his core tense and it’s not entirely out of selflessness that Harry refuses to acknowledge it and give in to the instinct to rut and fuck and seek his own orgasm,  _ now:  _  Eggsy’s lost to sense, finally, given up his sarcastic commentary under a wave of unabashed mewling, the dual stimulation of tongue at his arsehole and hand around his cock sending him wild in a way Harry had barely dared hope for.

“ _ Yes _ , Harry, yes _ , please,  _ ahh..”

Harry can barely hear the gasps over the lewd splashing of his own elbow in the surface of the water as he wanks Eggsy off quickly now, wanting to catch the crest of heat and ride it. Eggsy’s close. His body’s drawing up and in on itself, he’s not making any attempt to bite down on the noises he’s making - the sort he'd be mortified to hear come out of himself, the sort Harry loves the most - and Harry gives up on precision in favour of more stimulation: harder presses, stronger flicks of his tongue, lapping and sucking at the skin clumsily enough to slurp.

Harry freezes for a moment lest the graceless filth of the noise puts Eggsy off, but if anything he just bends his back and rocks into it so Harry continues with his tongue fucking, the gorgeous little whimpering sound Eggsy’d been making picking up into a full-bodied whine that’s muffled by his forearm until he turns his head to the side to heave in a ragged gasp, to find words at last, urgent, surprised. 

“Harry, I’m coming.”

Harry gets to feel Eggsy's cock spasm in his grip, gets to hear the pulses of his come stripe into the water over the slick sound of their skin but, best of all, gets to feel the flare and flicker of Eggsy’s hole on his tongue as the rest of the boy’s body locks up in orgasm. He slows his hand and softens his grip but licks him through it, not letting up until he can feel Eggsy’s muscles jumping rhythmically on every stroke. His own cock twitches in sympathy, but that will wait. He's confident now that tossing himself off in bed later whilst he tells Eggsy all about how much he was enjoying eating him out will do no harm to the cause at all. 

Eggsy hauls himself up on his trembling arms, slithers forward and flops out of the bath in a manner that would likely be unflattering on anybody else, but on Eggsy Harry fancies looks like a merman who hasn't quite worked out how to use his new legs. 

Harry will chalk that up as a win, thank you. 

“If you enjoyed that half as much as I did,” he says to the dazed form dripping puddles on the tiles, “I gather we’ll be doing it again in the future?" 

“I did not know it was going to feel like that.” Eggsy is dark eyed still, wet and panting, and Harry feels almost guilty about how good he looks.  “I don't know what I was expecting. You could have told me it was… wow.”

“Like heaven? I suspected showing you would be more effective.”

There's an unrivalled lucidity that comes to Eggsy after orgasm, just on the heels of the dose of sleepy relaxation that has him bundling up a little nest of towels to lounge in rather than attempting to move for the time being. Harry dunks himself quickly under the bathwater to rinse soap out of the tips of his hair, and maybe clear his head a little. He emerges to Eggsy still looking at him, smile lifting half of his mouth and wrinkling the bridge of his nose almost impishly.  _ Fuck, just look at him. _

“Harry.”

“Yes, my love?”

“Is there any chance at all that this is your not so subtle way of hinting that you'd like me to do it to you?”

It wasn’t, but perhaps it’s only that the laundry list of fantasies Harry has about this boy is lengthening quicker than he can fill them out.

“I… I must confess I’d rarely turn it down. It's not-” he scrambles for the most concise term to convey what he needs to, and finds one of Eggsy's: “- a deal breaker, if you don’t think you’d like it.”

Eggsy forgoes answering to lean in and kiss him, his eyes curious and soft. Harry knows the reassurance he's seeking and he’ll get it: Harry can taste nothing much more than hour-old wine, spit, the strange soapy sweetness of bathwater on skin. Harry kneels up to press against him, still hard, still needing, and feels Eggsy's mock-scandalised gasp and chuckle against his lips. 

“Yeah, I reckon it could probably be on the menu.” 

Harry groans in the back of his nose and is surprised at himself to realise it’s the indulgent, pleased little noise he usually reserved for really good patisserie rather than criticism of the pun. He could forgive Eggsy most anything, at this moment. He’d have forced himself to be satisfied with this indulgence once, but knowing - really knowing, from the looks of Eggsy, loose, sated, confident and newly world-wise, somehow - that he has done well enough to open all sorts of doors for them, is a greater feeling than he imagined.

Harry catches sight of himself in the mirror: he looks loose, ruffled, young. Unbearably pleased with himself, and rightly so.  He's going to pop downstairs, retrieve the rest of that bottle of wine and bring it up to the bedroom and absolutely resist making a wine pairings joke -  _ don't push it, Hart, he's not ready  _ \- though he might just ask what else sir might fancy this evening, whilst they're on the specials board, and all. 

It's only fair. Eggsy is yet to throw him anything he couldn't field easily - sexually, that is, emotionally is a slightly different ball game, and seemingly one more akin to lacrosse than cricket in that Harry has little to no idea what he's supposed to be doing and yet somehow seems to be winning - but he's confident he'd try anything that tickled his darling’s fancy. He’s been there, done that, got the t-shirt, the medal, the four stitches and the pins in his wrist to prove it, so he’s more than happy to let Eggsy reap the benefits of a more experienced lover and if he does manage to drum up something Harry hasn’t tried, well then,there’s a first for everything. 

And Eggsy… it looks as though Eggsy's track record for things he's able to refuse Harry has just been firmly reset to zero. And that's exactly how Harry likes it. 

  
  
  


**Author's Note:**

> Back from my little break, with plenty of works in progress! Feedback and kudos keep me motivated. Please do come prod me on Tumblr, I'm randomactsofviolence


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